


Call Me

by fredbassett



Series: Stephen/Ryan series [8]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conecrning phone calls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me

Nick Cutter slammed his pen down on the desk and glared in exasperation at his assistant.

“Stephen, for fuck’s sake! Can’t you do something useful? Find a student to persecute, or an essay to fail or something? Or go and take my 3 o’clock tutorial. They could do with some of your grim looks.”

Stephen Hart crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand, grunted something unintelligible and wandered out of the office. It could have been a yes, but it could equally well have been a get stuffed or some other similar pleasantry. Cutter presumed he’d find out at about ten past three, if someone from his group had the nerve to knock on the door and find out where he was.

He’d seen that particular piece of paper scrunched up and then carefully straightened out again more times than he cared to remember over the past week, both in the office and out of it, even in the improvised dissecting lab that Lester had set up for them in an old aircraft hanger.

And with each day that had gone by, Stephen’s mood had got worse and the piece of paper had got tattier.

* * *

The collective rabbit in the headlights look was starting to get on Stephen’s nerves and that only made him more irritable.

Taking his temper out on a bunch of scared second years was hardly very manly or mature. But then again neither was staring at a badly creased piece of paper containing a phone number and the words Call me.

He’d found the note tucked into his jacket pocket. He hadn’t rung the number that night, even though he’d been strongly tempted. He’d decided to wait until the following evening, and had spent a pleasant day in anticipation of the call, cheerfully refusing to help dissect one of the T. rex carcasses on the grounds that he’d developed an allergy to anything with fur or feathers or scales bigger than a baby mouse.

It became a game, watching the clock, waiting for the time to arrive. And then the sodding phone had just rung and rung, until eventually a curt, mechanical voice had told him to leave a message. He’d cut the call off without saying anything, pleasant anticipation sinking abruptly into a nasty churning in his stomach.

After that he’d just prowled round the flat like a leopard in a cage. He’d rung the number again at nine o’clock and then again two hours later.

And each time he’d got that same fucking irritating inhuman voice. Eventually, feeling like a total idiot, he’d said, “Hi, it’s Stephen. Give me a call when you pick this up,” and he’d left his number, just in case.

By lunchtime the following day he’d been furious with himself. Why the hell had he left that message? Why hadn’t he just kept calling? He could hardly leave another message now.

Hi, it’s me again, ring me before I start climbing the walls and clubbing students to death with fossils. 

Hi, why the fuck did you give me your number if you had no fucking intention of answering your fucking phone?

It was a good job there was no tutorial group that day.

* * *

It had got to the stage where Cutter was seriously considering inventing an anomaly just so they could call Special Forces out.

Even sitting through a Departmental Meeting was light relief in comparison to sharing an office with his assistant.

On the few occasions Stephen’s phone had rung, the look of vivid hope on his face had been almost pathetic. None of them had been the call he was so obviously desperate for and after each one his mood had been even worse.

* * *

“Perhaps he needs therapy? It might be, you know, post traumatic whatsit syndrome,” hazarded Conner, trying to be helpful.

He needs a bloody good fuck. “It’s my tutorial group that need therapy,” muttered Cutter.

Connor grinned. “He only had two of them in tears.”

Cutter winced. “Where is he now?”

Connor looked at his watch. “Lecturing, I think. Do you want me to set off the fire alarm?”

* * *

He’d got half an hour into the lecture without being vile to anyone, which was an improvement on yesterday, even Stephen had to admit that. He’d also managed a slightly shame-faced grin when he’d noticed Connor slide in at the back of the room. Cutter had obviously decided he needed a minder now.

“The new Chengjiang species have a number of features not seen in amphioxus or other invertebrate chordates ……………..” 

His phone let out a loud, barking whoop. Oh fuck, he really was going to kill Connor. When the hell had he managed to make the sodding thing sound like a howler monkey? Connor slid further down in his seat trying to be unobtrusive. The students looked amused and uncertain, not wanting Stephen’s wrath to descend on their heads if they dared to giggle at his obvious embarrassment.

Stephen glanced at the display. It was a text. Ignoring the spreading grins on the braver faces, he opened the message, trying to wrestle his stomach back under control. If it was a reminder about a dental check-up, there was a strong possibility that not everyone would leave the room alive.

He stared at the one word, Sorry, followed by an address. His hormones started line-dancing and the murderous mood vanished as quickly as mist in sunlight.

Thrusting the phone back into his pocket he smiled at the students, “Mr. Temple, perhaps you’d be so kind as to share your knowledge of Chinese fossil fish with the whole group?”

Connor gaped and stared at Stephen as the other man grabbed his leather jacket and strolled out of the lecture theatre. Now that really wasn’t fair. Howler monkeys were cute!


End file.
